


The Deeper the Scars

by WorryinglyInnocent



Series: Maison Rouge ficlets [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, TW: Domestic Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after her arrival at the theatre, Belle has a nightmare and breaks down, finally giving voice to the insidious fears that her husband planted in her mind. Set around three years before <em>Maison Rouge</em>, between <em>Something There</em> and <em>The Next Step</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Deeper the Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Domestic abuse

_“Belle, come here.”_

_Belle backs up towards the door. She doesn’t like it when Gerard’s like this, so calm and quiet and unpredictable. She feels safer when he’s in a rage, because at least she knows where she stands then. But when he’s like this, she has no idea if he’s mad or not; she can’t read him in the way she always used to be able to._

_“Why?” she asks. He looks up at her, and his eyes are cold and cruel._

_“Do I need a reason?” he replies. “Now do as you’re told and come here.”_

_Belle takes a step forward and Gerard snorts._

_“Come on, Belle, anyone would think you were afraid of me.”_

I am afraid of you, _Belle thinks._ But I’m more afraid of what will happen if I try to leave you.

_“Come on, Baby Doll. Come here.” He pats his lap. “It’s been a while since we had any fun.”_

_Belle shakes her head, plastering a carefree smile on her face so that she doesn’t provoke him any more than he already is. She can hear the dangerous tone in his voice. She recognises what that means. She’s walking on the edge of a knife, but there’s always the chance that she can work her way out of this._

_“I have to get dinner started, honey,” she says, as sweetly as she can, talking through her teeth to stop the stammer of fear. “You know you get grumpy when you don’t get your dinner on time.”_

_Gerard shrugs. “We’ll get take-out. Come on, Baby. You’ve got those blue panties on. You know how I like taking them off.”_

_“Were you watching me get dressed?”_

_“It’s a free country. Can’t a man watch his wife get dressed? Come on, Baby, you wore those panties for a reason.”_

_“Yes, because they were clean. I’ve got to go and deal with the laundry.”_

_She turns to leave the room, put some distance between them and get the laundry out of the machine, but Gerard is up in a flash and he grabs her arm, his hand like a vice around her._

_“I said, come here.”_

_Belle can’t speak. She feels sick with fear, powerless, knowing that anything she does to fight him off will come back against her fourfold._

_“Gerry, I…”she begins, the words stammering out._

_“Shut up, you little slut,” Gerard snarls, pressing his other hand over her mouth and nose. She can’t breathe, she can’t speak, she’s light-headed… “If you didn’t wear them for me, then why did you wear them, hm?”_

_He lets go of her face and she gasps in a breath of air._

_“For fuck’s sake, Gerry, it’s a pair of knickers.”_

_The smack of his hand against her cheek stings, but it’s louder than it is painful, his fingers digging into her upper arm where the scars are still fresh hurt more._

_“When are you going to get it through that pretty little **stupid** head of yours that it’s so much more than a pair of knickers? I bought you those. They’re mine. Just like you are. So if you’re thinking of maybe putting them on and opening your fat thighs for someone else, I think you need a little reminder that all of you belongs to me.”_

_“I-I-I’m sorry!” Belle gasps, because she can’t breathe and she’s about to pass out. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I swear, I promise, Gerry, please, I’m sorry…”_

_She doesn’t even really know what she’s done wrong this time, but begging for mercy’s the only thing that’s helped in the past._

_Gerard nods, seemingly satisfied, and he lets go of her arm. Finally she can breathe again._

_Then she feels him yank up her shirt and plant his fist in her stomach and she’s on her knees, and there’s blood weeping over her fingers where his signet ring dug into her skin, and she’s crying, and she can hear Gerard’s voice hissing in her ear ‘now no-one else will want you, you whore’, and…_

Belle woke with a scream, became aware of her surroundings and immediately felt a swoop of nausea in her stomach as she lost her balance and rolled off the sofa.

“Belle?”

It was Gold’s soft voice beside her, and she looked up to see his worried face, holding out a hand but hovering, not touching her. She nodded slowly and took his hand, letting him get her to her feet and sit her back down on the sofa. They were in the bar, and it was dark. Glancing at her watch in the dim light from the lamp in the corner that Gold had just turned on, Belle saw that it was half-past three.

“You fell asleep after the show,” Gold explained. “We thought it best just to let you stay down here and rest rather than disturb you. I stayed in case…”

In case the inevitable happened, which it had done. She wasn’t surprised at her dropping off in the bar. She hadn’t slept well for three weeks, the nightmares plaguing her worse than ever. She pressed her hands over her face.

Gold was so good to her. So sweet, so gentle, and so scared for her. Not of her. For her. She felt nauseous again, the memory of the pain from her nightmare still not fully gone. She still bore the scar from that time, and it ached.

“Hey. Here you go.” Gold passed her a glass of water before sitting down on the sofa beside her. “It’s all right. You’re here, you’re home. We’re all here to help you.”

“I’m sorry,” Belle whispered.

"You've nothing to apologise for."

She took a sip of the water to try and calm herself, but it did nothing for her shaken nerves. Of all the nightmares she had experienced since leaving Gerard, that had been the worst one so far. It was not the fear, or the pain. It was his words.

_No-one else will want you._

Belle didn’t know if it was the nightmare, fuelling the insecurities that Gerard had planted so deep within her, or what it was, but something in her snapped. All she could hear was Gerard’s voice, telling her over and over again that no-one would love her, no-one would want her, no-one would help her… Gold was so good and so kind, but surely he wouldn’t possibly be so good and kind if he knew the truth, if he knew just how broken she was. She had felt that little spark soon after they had met, and she knew that he had felt it too. She’d said that when she was ready, they would see where it took them.

Perhaps she would never be ready. Or, more likely, he would never be ready for her in all her messy state of being. He knew about her nightmares and he stood by her then, but he didn’t know everything. She couldn’t bear it, the memories of Gerard’s taunting still ringing in her ears as if he was there in the room with her. Would Gold still want to be with her and want to help her?

She sprang off the sofa, grabbing the hem of her sweater and pulling it over her head, watching Gold’s eyes widen at the suddenness of the movement that left her standing there in the dim light in just her bra.

“Look at me!” she sobbed, spreading her arms and pointing out the web of shiny scar tissue there, tracing the lines and burns on her chest and belly. “I’m broken! Damaged goods! _No-one could ever, ever love me!_ ”

“I am looking at you.”

There was a quaver in Gold’s voice, but as she finally looked up and saw him through tear-misted eyes, Belle could see that his expression was not one of anger or disgust, and not even one of pity. It was sympathetic.

“I am looking at you, and I see a very scared, very brave, very beautiful young woman, who is repeating poisonous words that she’s had poured into her ears, words that are categorically not true.”

Belle shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m broken,” she whispered.

“No, you’re _hurt_.” Gold came over and with the blanket that she had been sleeping under and wrapped it around her shoulders; Belle grabbed the corners and pulled it in tight. “People don’t get broken. Things get broken, and we’re not things. We’re people. We get hurt. But we can heal. You can heal. I promise you that you can heal, and that we want to help you. And I promise you that you can and will be loved.”

Belle couldn’t speak. There was such firm conviction in Gold’s words, the same conviction that had been in Gerard’s when he had told her the opposite all those months ago.

Perhaps, if it had come from anyone else, she wouldn’t have believed them.

But it was Gold. And although he didn’t know her pain, he knew his own.

And he had always been honest with her.

She wasn’t quite sure how she ended up in his arms, crying against his shoulder, loud and snotty sobs that just wouldn’t stop coming. It wasn’t the first time that she had cried since she had come to the theatre, by any manner or means. But it was the first time that she had cried like this, rather than silently in her room on her own to avoid attracting attention to herself.

Gold didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to shush her, or comfort her. He just held her safe, and let her cry herself dry. He didn’t try to stop her until she was finished and there were no more tears to come. They stood there in silence, listening to the rain pattering against the windows outside the theatre.

“Rum,” she began presently. “Do you have scars? Physical scars, I mean. Like mine. Mental ones are different.”

She didn’t know what had possessed her to ask him. But for some reason she felt that it was important at that moment. She needed to know just how hurt he had been. Just how alike they were.

“Yes.”

“Where are they? I don’t want to see them, you don’t have to show me. But… Where are they?”

“On my back.”

“Do they still ache sometimes?”

“Yes.”

“How do you bear it?”

“Sometimes I don’t.”

Belle looked up at him and he looked down at her, his eyes warm and honest.

“You will heal,” he said. “I will heal. It might take a long time. It’s taking me a long time. We’ll take as long as we need, but we’ll get better. Both of us.”

Belle nodded.

“We can do it together,” she said.

“Yes. We can.”


End file.
